cw: violence, slavery, eye injury (non explicit), implied fear of noncon, crude language
previous // Masterlist //
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The arena was a mockery of the wastes.
Sure, the city-dwellers probably didn't see it that way, but as soon as Judd's eyes landed on the cracked orange dirt that made up the floor, it was all he could see. Wastedirt, spectators all seated in shining viewer boxes, high above where the dust would cloud and the blood would spray. Watching and laughing from above like they always did.
A snarl pulled on Judd's mouth as he took in the crowd. Dressed up and clean, laughing and drinking with their eyes on the dirt below. Some looking bored as they waited for the fun to start. The sight of wine in a few of their glasses turned his stomach, nausea competing with nerves and anger for his attention.
Judd was the first event of the night by the looks of it, the heavy hand of Burke's guard shoving him forward so that he was walking alongside the barbed-wire fence that walled off the pit. The crowd erupted into cheers when they caught sight of him, the sound hitting him like hot oil on a sunburn.
Fuckers. He hated the thought of doing anything that excited the citydwellers, but right now he had no choice. If he did good now, maybe Burke would keep him in the pits, and if Skye was right, that meant more freedom. Training to get stronger, proper rations, no Compliance. It was his best chance for escape, a chance he refused to lose.
The guard stopped him just short of the gate, taking off Judd’s cuffs before giving him a shove forward, metal clanging behind him as he was shut inside. Judd fought the urge to cling to the fenceline, seeking what distance he could from the hoards of citydwellers, all with their eyes on him, calling for action, jeering.
“Wasteland bastard!”
“Desert dog!”
A hundred yards away, on the opposite side of the arena, another gate swung open, and Judd was suddenly face to face with his opponent.
Big guy, shaved head, maybe a foot taller than him. All muscle and scars, the look of a bastard who spent a lot of time fighting.
There were dogfights in the waste cities. Judd wasn’t big on those events, but he'd caught one or two after making a sale. Pit dogs were bred for power, made to survive in the tiny, dirt-packed arena, but for one fight the runners had tossed in a desert dog; a scrawny, yellow-eyed jackal. Poor mutt was ripped to shreds in the first minute.
The crowd roared as his opponent stepped into the ring, and Judd was struck with a sharp awareness; he was the jackal.
Not meant to win, just here to be a spectacle. Meant to bleed, to fall.
He'd fucking show them.
The big brute strode towards the center, pacing around like he wanted to circle Judd, never taking his eyes off him, looking like a predator about to strike. Fuck, he was big. Judd wouldn't stand a chance fighting fair, he'd have to use every dirty trick he knew just to stay up.
Some officiator was shouting above them both, but Judd didn't care to listen. He waited until the brute was a shade closer, and he lunged.
The crowd erupted as he shot forwards, catching onto his opponent in a flying leap and wrapping both arms around his neck. The brute rolled with Judd's momentum, dropping onto his side and crushing his chest under his weight.
All the air left Judd’s lungs, his arms going slack just long enough for his opponent to shrug him off. Two meaty hands clamped on his shoulders and suddenly he was airborne, the ground rushing up to meet him for a second chest-rattling blow.
He struggled to his feet before the air could return to his chest, wheezing, hitting the ground for a third time to avoid the swing of a fist.
Fuck, fuck.
He wasn't quick enough getting back up. The brute grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him backwards, a hand catching his throat and a knee catching his gut.
Judd doubled over, a dazing blow striking him as he fell, sending shooting stars across his vision.
Had he already lost? Would they let him die if he lost now? Or would that only seal his fate as a pet? A bedwarmer for fucking Burke?
He grit his teeth, managing to roll away as the brute aimed a kick at his chest.
He had to get the fuck out of here.
Judd forced himself back onto his feet, ignoring the building nausea, the blood streaming from his nose, the sudden dizziness. He staggered towards the brute, somehow ducking under another punch, somehow closing that distance and toppling the bigger man. His fingers dug into the skin of his opponent's neck, one hand clamping onto his ear if only for something to hold on to. The brute’s fist came down again and again on Judd's ribs, pounding into them like a blacksmith's hammer, but he held on, a scream building behind his teeth.
How did he win this? When would they call it? No one had told him shit, he'd just been shoved in here and expected to lose.
With a deathgrip on the man's ear, Judd's other hand shot up to his face, thumb finding the soft flesh of his eyelid and pushing, all of his strength behind it as the brute screamed, grabbed at his hair, hit him, anything to try and shake him free.
A sound like a horn cut through the arena, but Judd barely heard it. Blood was oozing around his thumb, the ear shredding in his other hand.
“Stop! Get him off, the fight’s over!”
Over?
Someone grabbed him from behind, hauling him off the brute and forcing him into the dirt. Panic seized Judd for a moment, arms lashing out at his attackers, legs kicking, until they slammed his face against the ground and slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists.
Over…
He'd won. He won the fight.
But no one was cheering. The crowd was whispering amongst themselves as the brute was dragged off, some medic tending to his eye. As Judd was pulled back towards the gate, they began to boo.
Music to his ears. He hoped they were all betting against him. He hoped they all lost a fuckton of money.
He was pushed back through the gate, marched back the way he'd come, and shoved into the waiting arms of Burke. His so-called master let him drop, foot coming down between Judd's shoulder blades when he tried to get up.
“What the ever-loving fuck was that, ‘27?”
The fuck did he mean? He'd won, hadn't he? Wasn't that a good thing?
“False start, ear grabbing, eye gouging… all illegal moves.”
Illegal? “I won,” Judd protested, and Burke's heel cut across his face, reigniting the pain there with a new fury.
“You cheated. That's an automatic forfeit.”
He hadn't cheated shit. No one had told him. How else was he supposed to stand a chance against a fucker like the one he'd just met in the ring?
Anger dissolved into fear as Burke hauled him onto his knees.
The rules were unfair, all of it was unfair, but pointing that out wouldn't save him. If he'd cheated, if he'd lost, what did that mean? Would Burke ever throw him into another fight? Or was he doomed to become something else?
“Sir—”
“Shut up.” Burke's hand fisted his hair, keeping his skull in place. “We'll deal with you later. I still have one more dog in this fight.”
Skye.
Burke wrenched Judd's head towards the arena, where, sure as shit, Skye was being shoved through the gate.
He barely kept his footing as he hit the dirt, face locked in a wince as he staggered forwards. Some of the lash marks crossing his back had already re-opened, and Judd's stomach twisted at the sight of them.
It was better this way, it had to be. If he'd taken even half of the punishment, he would've been slower. He might be dead right now if he hadn't made the choice he did.
But what about Skye? Burke hadn't paid for him, hadn't planned for him. Was he meant to die tonight?
Reluctantly, his gaze went to Skye's opponent. Another big guy. Not nearly as hulking as Judd's challenger, but did that really matter? Skye was moving stiff and slow, he didn't stand a chance.
The officiator started to speak, and this time Judd listened.
“Fighters to the center.”
His eyes fell back onto Skye, that slow, painstaking limp to get into position. He wouldn't want him die, would he? It was Skye's choice, Skye's mistake that landed him here, but he'd made it for Judd. Tried to save Judd. He couldn't—
“Begin!”
Skye darted forward with a startling speed at the command, taking his opponent by surprise as he wrestled him to the ground. The other man recovered quickly, throwing Skye off before he could get in a hit, but the smaller man dove under his counterattacks, getting in a gut punch of his own.
He was… he was good. Even wounded and beaten and half-starved, Skye seemed to have the upper hand, practically dancing around his opponent.
He was a pit fighter the last time he'd been taken, wasn't he? He had to be.
He moved like a man half his age, quick and agile and light, but after only a minute, Judd could see he was wearing out. Skye hadn't taken a single hit, but his opponent was far from finished.
A backwards dodge that was a shade too slow and he was caught across the mouth with a fist. It only slowed him down a hair, but it was enough. His opponent caught his wrist, swinging him into the dirt and dragging a bitten scream from Skye as he dug his knee into the wounds on his back.
Somehow, he wrung himself free, taking a few blows to the ribs as he pulled back, unsteady on his feet. A lunge from the other man and they were on the ground again, a tangle of limbs, the crowd cheering with the fury of their movements.
When at last it came to a standstill, it was Skye on top, panting heavily and bleeding, his opponent's arm wrenched behind his back.
The horn sounded again, and Skye let the other man up, shakily getting to his feet to the roar of the crowd.
He'd won. In spite of everything against him, he'd won.
Burke’s hand tightened in Judd's hair, and he coughed out a wince.
“See that, ‘27?” his master said. “That's how you win a fight.”
He shoved Judd forward, and he barely managed to catch himself on his hands before his face could smash against the concrete.
“Bring him back to my rise,” Burke instructed a guard. “A proper lesson should teach him not to screw up the next one.”
Judd choked down a cry as he was hauled to his feet, the movement jostling his bruised ribs. Of course he was getting fucking punished for something that wasn't his fault, but his anger felt dull next to his relief.
He was gonna be a fighter.
The next one. Burke was gonna run him again. He still had a chance.
there was a pit fight at tonights tampa show! and security carried some dude off omg twitter(.)com/womanIaIaa/status/1447392001809391616
I don't know how massive it was (nor do I want to) since this is just them carrying the guy out, but what is wrong with these people? It seems like it was two guys this time. I love Harry just talking in the background having no idea this is happening.
I’m not able to draw good things at the moment, am extremely miserable the last weeks and it’s getting worse. Hate the very existence.
Anyway, Trox & Varius are saving Samuel after a bloody fight in the pit. And, yes, this slim elf weighs nothing to Trox, he could carry ten of Samuel's stature.
